“So, what do you, you know, enjoy?”
“Um, binge-watching Netflix.”
I gazed at him from across the tiny table, uncertain of how to respond further. Did I grasp the question? Absolutely. As a thirty-one-year-old woman on a date with a man who was four decades my senior and with five hundred dollars in cash stashed in my purse, I was well aware of his intentions, yet I still felt taken aback.
We had previously discussed payment and set boundaries, with my first condition being a strict no on anything sexual. Throughout the evening, he insisted that he expected nothing more than my company.
Everything seemed clear, right?
The bartender must have sensed my unease, as just moments later, he appeared at our side. To alleviate my discomfort, I ordered water instead of a cocktail. My date noticed immediately.
“I’m sorry, I truly don’t expect anything from you,” he said, “I just thought you might want to have a few drinks and then, I don’t know, have some fun.”
Fun. The imagery that flooded my mind was anything but pleasant, and I felt a wave of nausea rising. For a fleeting moment, I envisioned myself vomiting all over the table, Exorcist-style.
I could feel the bartender’s sympathetic gaze from across the bar. Was it really meant to be this humiliating?
I took a deep breath. “I don’t think so,” I asserted firmly. “We had an agreement.”
“Of course,” he replied, “but I paid you $500. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t want to be a Sugar Baby.”
He had a point. I could have said no when I first met him in the bar where I worked as a dealer at blackjack.
When I caught him watching me, I could have ignored him. When he approached to play, I could have been distant. When he was overtly staring at my figure, I could have buttoned my shirt more. When he feigned interest in my life, I could have dismissed him. When he asked if I was okay with older men, I could have replied differently, but what I said was: “That depends.”
I can’t explain why I did it. My divorce was fresh, and summer in North Dakota had everyone out enjoying life. Work had been slow, and I needed the cash. I knew of Sugar Babies who managed to be successful without even a goodbye hug. $500 a day for casual conversation? A no-brainer.
I envisioned a different outcome, and here I was, confronting the reality that I simply wasn’t cut out to be a Sugar Baby. Some women exude allure, a trait I truly admire. Not me. I felt like an awkward girl trapped in an even more awkward situation. I couldn’t deny my disappointment.
Desperate for an escape, I picked up my phone, feigning a scroll as if I’d received a notification while waiting for my Lyft. I scrambled to create a believable excuse. “Oh, no,” I said with my best frown. “I need to go home early. My dog’s sitter has a cut-off at eleven, so…”
I locked eyes with him, hoping he’d buy it. The slow nod and his gaze dropping to the table told me he didn’t.
My phone chimed, indicating a real notification this time. Your driver is ten minutes away! I sipped my water, trying to steer the conversation back. One thing I valued, and thought I was being compensated for, was being easy to talk to.
He seemed to have shrunk in confidence, and I felt a twinge of empathy. He had been a true gentleman until this moment. Perhaps I was too harsh in my judgments. We had another date scheduled for the following day, so I sought to salvage what could be a pleasant afternoon and an additional $500.
“So, movies tomorrow? We’re seeing The Kitchen, right? I love horror.”
“You know, when I first saw you, I thought you had the most beautiful mouth.”
Oh, great. Your driver is five minutes away! My eyes darted past the uncomfortable bartender to the exit. If I bolted now, could I reach the driver before he saw me?
Sensing my imminent escape, my date took a bold step. He reached out and touched one of the tattoos on my forearm, and I recoiled as if it was on fire. “Those are lovely. Are you sure I can’t persuade you to show me the rest?”
I was done. I could hitchhike if necessary. I stood up and thanked him for the evening, then cursed myself for feeling he deserved any courtesy.
As I exited the bar, relieved to see my Lyft driver from a previous ride, I felt a tug on my hand. In an instant, he had his hand on the small of my back, pulling me closer, and soon after, his tongue was down my throat.
You should know this: this is a public acknowledgment of one of the most embarrassing and degrading experiences I have ever endured.
I wish I could portray someone else and hide my humiliation. I wish I could say I emerged as a strong woman who pushed him away or as a clever vixen like those who succeed in this lifestyle, able to turn the tables. Instead, I froze.
Did I deserve this? Did I lead him on in some way? I didn’t believe so. Our agreement was clear.
Once he decided his fill was enough, he released me, and I bolted into the car, feeling the weight of smeared lipstick and tears welling in my eyes.
“Well, I can never return to that bar,” I joked, just before the tears surged forth, overwhelming me.
To my surprise, my driver offered consolation by stopping at McDonald’s and buying me a McFlurry. Five stars.
As my tears subsided, a text illuminated my phone. It was from him. No movie tomorrow. My doctor called in sick. I have to cover for him. You are a beautiful and intelligent young lady.
Upon reaching home, I responded to the man who had shattered my trust and made me feel insignificant in the best way I could. I blocked his number. I knew I owed him nothing, and I never did.
I turned on the TV, and with a smile, I launched Netflix. I wasn’t lying when I said I enjoyed binge-watching shows.
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Summary:
In this candid account, Clara Johnson shares her unsettling experience as a Sugar Baby, detailing the discomfort and humiliation that arose during a date with a significantly older man. Despite her initial intentions and agreements, the evening took an unexpected and distressing turn, leading her to reevaluate her choices and ultimately regain her sense of autonomy.
Keyphrase: Sugar Baby Experience
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